


The Rose

by Koi_no_Soshan



Series: Roses and Thorns [1]
Category: W.I.T.C.H.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-15
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koi_no_Soshan/pseuds/Koi_no_Soshan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he captured her within a rose, so she captures him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set in an AU where the Guardians failed to stop the coronation and Phobos succeeded in stealing Elyon's powers. Technically Phobos wasn't going to kill Elyon, and we see that in the comics he turns plenty of people into black roses as punishments... So, um, this plot bunny resulted.

The rose is not black.

That in itself is not too surprising; after all, black is hardly the color best suited to his sister. White would be more fitting, given her sickening purity and innocence. But no, the rose is not white, either. For a moment he is led to wonder if the flower is actually that of another, but no, only his sister has the power to affect such an enchantment, even with most of it stolen by him and her mortal life ended.

The rose is red.

Not a terribly bright red, and in some lights it can still be mistaken as pink, but in the shadows he prefers, red is the only name that can be put to it.

For a while he can put the mystery out of mind- there are still rebels to fight, and the Guardians grow to be cannier warriors as time wears on. But every once in a while the rose gains his attention again, and he wonders.

Perhaps he is growing sentimental- the palace isn't quite the same without his sister's saccharine presence. She was the first one to so much as sketch him without inciting his ire. She appreciated his gardens- or at least the gentle illusion of them which he allowed her to see.

But then, this is why he has allowed his dear sister to live. She would not have faded as queen until she bore an heir and transferred her powers to her, and now, as a rose in his garden, he will ensure that she never fades.

-o-

False flames run through the throne room, and the doors slam shut behind him. The Whisperers shriek; he ignores them.

"Incompetent fools!" Phobos paces, making sure not to crush any plants, and itches for something which he can in good conscience destroy. But his soldiers and servants have their uses, and he has run out of portraits of his mother.

This makes how many losses to the Guardians now? He shall ask Cedric later and watch him squirm.

The flames fade, and Phobos calls to the Whisperers, soothing them. They cling to his hair, their connections to him, and slowly calm. "Listen, and find those servants of mine who are working for the rebellion," he orders once again, and they are off.

They might be calmer, but he is not, and his pacing resumes. While doing so he casts a critical eye over his gardens, seeking out the areas which will require special attention once he is of the mind for it. The vines are starting to look peckish…

The rose catches his eye, a smattering of red against a forest of black. He pauses, examining it closely, and feels her spirit. "Hello, dear sister. I suppose you would be pleased to hear that those friends of yours are still causing me so much trouble."

Within the rose, her spirit flickers.

He smirks. "Unfortunately, you shall never know the joy of seeing me defeated. A shame that you shall never taste victory."

His sister's spirit burns, and, laughing, Phobos leaves her.

-o-

"Red. Tell me, dear sister, why this color? I would have expected white to be more to your liking." Phobos' hand lingers over the petals of the rose, but he maintains a breath of air between them. Their gardener of all people should know better than to ever touch them. "Or are you less pure than I had been led to believe?"

Increasingly he can feel her trapped spirit, and is surprised when his words fail to get a rise out of her.

"Rather young to be losing your innocence, aren't you? Still such a child."

Ah, embarrassment. That's his baby sister.

-o-

"I suppose I should hold another coronation soon," he muses, stroking the air just above the rose, teasing. "King Phobos. Hmm, it doesn't have quite the same ring, but sacrifices must be made." His sister's frustration is palpable, and he chuckles. "Now, now, you must learn patience."

The annoyance changes tint, and his fingers jerk as he sees the petals shift in color slightly. 'As if you're the model of patience,' he can almost hear her say, in the rough cadence afforded her by a childhood hidden on earth.

"I was patient enough in my ploy with you, baby sister," he replies after a moment, affecting calm.

Again the rose's hues shift, and he narrows his eyes.

"Curious. I've never seen anyone hold sway over their rose before. I suppose being an Escanor does count for something, even with your power stripped from you."

He is strangely tempted to touch the petals, to see if their texture has changed as well, but resists. The trap of his rose bushes is a threat even to him.

"Trust an Escanor to be able to tap into magic worked against her. Her, of course," he mutters. It seems the bitterness will never fade, no matter how he stomps on the traditions of his family.

Really, he should hate his sister more than he does.

-o-

It had only been one brush during a battle in the throne room, but it was a touch nonetheless. What was that expression of Elyon's? Waiting for the other shoe to drop? Ghastly earth phrase. Truly, he is waiting for the trap to spring. But his sister is no hunter, is she?

Sleep eludes him, so he focuses on his garden, repairing the damage done to it by the Guardian of Fire. The roses are the only things unable to run and hide themselves which are still untouched. He will ignore the reality that he has protected his sister's life, worthless though it may now be.

"Ah, so you're one of those villains."

Elyon's voice, conversational, and he cannot help but start. Turning around to face the roses, his eyes widen and then narrow. "How did you escape?"

Elyon ignores him. "What is it about plants that make you think they're so much better than people, anyway? They don't have to be reminded not to talk back?"

"I preferred you as a flower," Phobos murmurs, glaring.

"Yup, that's it. You're pretty predictable once a girl gets to know you."

Deciding to ignore her inane words, Phobos examines Elyon. She is still in her white gown from the coronation, but there are hints of leaves among it, and… From under her skirts, thorny vines trail, binding her to the rose bush.

"Only partial freedom, then?" he asks, better able now to mock her.

But Elyon only shrugs. "Hey, it's better than being stuck in a flower- I bet all your other plants really hate not being able to talk back."

"You're rather calm for a prisoner."

"I'll give you some advice," Elyon says, the first hint of anger creeping into her voice. "After a while, you get sick of raging. Keep that in mind for when I lock you up."

"An empty threat." Phobos approaches her cautiously- he cannot sense any significant power from her, but this is unprecedented. "Hmph. Trust one of you women to defy magical expectations."

"Sexist," she accuses, as if that should mean anything to him. "What does being a woman have to do with it?"

"The women of this family, baby sister. I have good reason to despise you all."

He reaches out a hand and touches her cheek. A small experiment. Nothing new appears to happen, however, and his senses only light on his sister. She stiffens at his touch, though, and color rises in her cheeks.

"Let go, Phobos."

"Now, dear sister, you're in no position to be giving orders. A princess should obey her elder brother." His hand slides down to her throat, stroking it lightly with the backs of his fingers. "You lost the war, so don't presume to hold authority over me."

"It would've been nice if we'd both known we were at war," she says petulantly.

"I think you can agree with me that it's preferable to have the odds slanted in one's favor," Phobos replies, tracing his hand along her collarbone and shoulder. She doesn't seem to be inclined to move from his touch- has she put down roots?

"Y-yeah…" His sister's voice catches. It is gratifying for his attentions to finally be met with fear as they should be.

"Always remember who is in favor, dear sister."

-o-

While she lasted a while longer, eventually Elyon's form faded, transforming back into the rose that traps her yet. Was her one moment of partial freedom a fluke, then, or a singular event? Phobos wonders just how foolish it would be to touch the rose again in order to find out.

He needn't bother. When he walks into the throne room again in the middle of the night, planning on scrying, Elyon is there.

"Can't sleep either?" Elyon asks conversationally.

Phobos ignores her mocking query. "Still trapped, I see."

His sister tugs at the thorny vines that stay her, grimacing. "It's an improvement, at least."

Phobos has always despised optimism.

He pours finely dusted gems on the floor, creating a looking glass which shows him events on earth. But for once the times are similar between the two worlds, and the Guardians are asleep.

"Weird."

He glances at Elyon when she mutters that, but, scowling back at him, she says nothing by way of explanation. Turning away from her, he continues, gleaning what he can find of the rebels' movements which are not protected from his sight. The mage again, he's sure. Having advised his mother for so many years, she seems to be trying to take up the dead woman's torch.

"Too bad you never taught me how to do that," Elyon says, sounding envious. "But I guess it would have been pretty dumb to teach me how to spy when you had so many secrets to keep from me." She smiles, and he is surprised by the nasty hint to it. It seems that two years trapped within his spell have been taking their toll on her. "But not anymore, since I'm useless now."

"Quite so." Phobos smirks at her, but she seems unbothered.

"Well, since I can't do anything about it…tell me? Your plans, I mean. It gets boring, just sitting around here and watching you pace and yell at your servants."

"Do you take me for a fool, sister? Imprisoned or not, I'm hardly going to offer information to an enemy."

"Then talk about something else. Magic, maybe. I'm stuck in here all the time with a bunch of plants. It gets so boring." That last said with the dragged out whine which he is sure Elyon picked up on earth.

"You should speak in a manner befitting your rank, sister," he scolds.

"What, a piece of gardening? Oh, but I'm a prince's piece of gardening, so sorry."

If Phobos finds her insolence amusing at times, it is of no matter.

-o-

"But my lord, the families of the Guardians are vulnerable!"

"I said no, Cedric; you do understand me, do you not? I have no interest in expanding the battle to earth."

"We have attacked the Guardians on earth before!" Cedric shouts, his voice more a snake's his than a man's yell.

"Cedric," Phobos says simply, quietly, and allows his power to flow through the room. Sometimes threats are most effective.

Cedric bows, hissing out apologies, but flees when Phobos's power flares again in warning.

Movement catches his eye, and he stares blankly at Elyon, who sits on the floor easily. She cocks her head, peering at him. "You're weird, you know that?"

The sentiment is returned. When did his predictable sister become so perplexing?

-o-

"Can I at least have my sketchbook? I can't do anything troublesome with that, can I?"

His sister actually seems to be in earnest, which he supposes is his answer as to why her rose refuses to turn black, though it has darkened slightly in the months since she first began speaking to him. Her appearance is changing, as if her transformed body is futilely attempting to make up for the growth it lost in the two, nearly three years since her imprisonment. She is a woman now, at least in appearance. Perhaps his old appellation of 'baby sister' has become a poor insult.

Rather than lecturing her on her ignorance of the art of subterfuge, Phobos ignores her. The next evening, however, he drops her sketchbook and a set of pencils by the rose bushes before going about his scrying.

"My old sketchbook…" There is a strange note of wonder in Elyon's voice. "You kept it?"

Phobos doesn't bother replying. It is disturbing to hear his sister speak to him in a tone not dissimilar to the one she used in her early days in Meridian, when she still believed his sweetened lies, happy to live in her gilded trap. Now that they are acknowledged enemies, shouldn't she hate him cleanly?

Phobos despises the world. Any affection which isn't false is foreign to him.

He decides that his sister is a strange being.

-o-

"Hey, what do you think?"

With his powers, Phobos catches the sketchbook that is thrown in the air at him, and allows it to levitate by him. "I despise it," he replies without looking at the page it is open to.

"If you want your lie to be convincing, you need to at least look at it." Elyon's voice is dry and amused; rather dissimilar to the starry-eyed young girl who first arrived in his palace. In a way it is satisfying to know that he took them from her, replacing them with the cynical eyes of a woman betrayed.

He looks away from those eyes and at the picture presented- a portrait of himself, braids wrapped about the Whisperers. "It is adequate, I suppose."

Elyon scowls at him, as if she is still expecting the praise he would have given while deceiving her. "Hmm. Well, at least you didn't find anything to insult."

His sister might be aggravating, but it seems that she is no longer a fool.

-o-

The hour is late, and Phobos has returned from battle. He is too tired to deflect his sister's odd questions effectively, which perhaps is why she chooses this night to place such a volatile question before him.

"Phobos…what were our parents like?"

He gazes at her idly, seeing the coolness in her. Betrayal has tempered her, and she no longer expects a pretty tale. Pity.

"We do not share the same father- mine passed on long before you were ever born."

"How long?"

"Over forty years."

His sister sputters. "Is that even possible? I thought women weren't, um, fertile that long."

"The Light of Meridian does not age as ordinary mortals do. She dies when she transfers her full power and position to her heir." His words are clipped and harsh, and his wounded arm stings. Bitter honesty seems to be all he can manage this night.

"She took her time about getting an heir, huh?"

"Her first attempt was a male- quite a disappointment." The sting is old enough that Phobos doesn't even feel the need to kill something for speaking of it.

"So our family's sexist? I know you're evil and probably the worst thing that ever happened to Meridian, but that's just you. It's not like evil is gender-based."

That surprises a laugh out of Phobos. "Oh, our dear mother would be so disappointed to hear you say that, sister. Male Escanors are worthless- men are not fit to nurture this land. I have certainly proven that true."

Elyon frowns at him, her expression thoughtful rather than angered. "You're saying you've spent an odd fifty years killing and making people miserable so you can get power, all to prove family tradition wrong in the worst possible way? Sheesh, who dropped you on the head as a kid?"

"I'm sure Mother is disappointed she didn't think to do so. It certainly would have made denying me the right to inherit easier for her."

"So you're not brain damaged, just insane," Elyon surmises dryly.

It is a mark of how exhausted he is that Phobos fails to devise any suitable return insult.

-o-

"How old are you, anyway? You said there were forty years between us…"

"Seventy."

Elyon's eyes widen. "You're older than Mrs. Lin!"

"Who?" Phobos asks uncaringly. But that name is familiar… "Ah, you refer to Yan Lin."

"You know her?"

"I faced her in battle during her time as a Guardian."

"Ohh. So…my brother is old enough to be my grandfather?" Elyon makes a face. "My life is too weird."

"I concur- you were raised in secrecy far from your home and you speak like an urchin. It's like one of those nauseating tales that nurses tell to their charges."

Elyon grins. "You had a nurse?"

Phobos laughs at her. "I may be effectively immortal due to my sorcery, and I may be 'evil' as you like to call me, but I was not born of the ether, baby sister."

This appears to be of some surprise to Elyon. "I'm trying to imagine baby Phobos, and it's not going well. Babies are all cute and squishy and helpless, and you're…"

"A predator?"

"You're a serpent. You manipulate and you tempt people, and then lead them into darkness." For a moment, Elyon's eyes are unfathomable.

"I have not led you into darkness, sister."

She smiles disconcertingly, nothing of the gullible child he once knew in her expression. "You wouldn't know, would you? You're too buried in darkness to see the difference."

-o-

When Phobos walks into the throne room, early this evening, he is met with a new sight. His sister kneels on the ground, her hair splayed out before her. No longer roughly bound with rose stems, he can see clearly how long it has grown. Lacking magic or anything else to care to it with, it has also grown incredibly tangled.

"Can I have a comb?" Elyon asks, looking down at the knotted mess plaintively. "Or some scissors? I think this needs cutting off."

Phobos can't bother to conceal his amusement. "Some trimming, perhaps, but that is all. No Escanor cuts their hair."

Expression wry, his sister turns to him. "You say it like it's a bad word."

In connection to either hair or gardens, it is. He had thought that obvious.

"How long does it take you to keep it like that, anyway?"

"Not very long. One of the many benefits of sorcery."

Elyon grimaces. "Don't remind me."

For a moment there is silence between them, his sister's countenance soured. She had taken to the magical arts naturally, so very eager to learn and use her powers; the loss of them must burn even now. Phobos decides not to stoke those embers back into flames.

He approaches her and kneels down, the gesture forcibly reminding him of the times he had knelt and embraced her during those months of deception. Now, though, he instead puts hand to the ends of her long hair, raising it and calling magic to soothe the knots. There are rose stems in her hair, but they react to his will obediently, smoothing off to the side and awaiting future use. His sister is flustered, staring studiously down at his hands on her hair, a blush suffusing her cheeks. It is an odd moment of power over her.

A braid behind her, wrapped in thorns, and two in front, framing her face and reaching to her waist. Rather than the silver loops of old, they are ended by thorny ones, small rosebuds growing on them. That is certainly new.

"There," he says finally, moving to her side and conjuring a mirror. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he looks with her. "Now your appearance befits a princess of Meridian once again."

Phobos has his own appreciation of beauty, and he is aware that his sister has been growing into quite the lovely young woman. Without him, her lifespan likely would have been short- no suitor would look past her outward power and looks to see the more dangerous power underneath, and she would have been with heir soon enough. Now there is a strange irony, that in ending her life he has prevented her death.

A hand rests over his suddenly, tentative and warm. "…Thank you."

Elyon's hand squeezes his, and she turns about to look up at him…

There is a clattering at the doors to the throne room, and Elyon startles like a rabbit, ducking out from under his touch and into the shelter of the rose bushes. Phobos rises and bids his soldiers enter, shoving questions of what just happened aside for another time.


	2. Chapter 2

Nearly four years have passed since Elyon's imprisonment, and nowadays Phobos sees her true form more often than not. A part of him is bothered at Elyon's growing ease in escaping the imprisonment of the rose, but too much of him prefers to be unconcerned.

"You couldn't hold it still for another minute, could you?"

"I have more important things to do, sister, than cater to your whims."

Elyon has taken up painting, a pastime he has encouraged, as it prevents her from chattering at him at all hours when he has work to be done. But there are also times like this, when she lights upon a vision in his scrying and decides that it would make the perfect subject.

"I said just a minute. Please?"

Phobos' response is to dispel the scrying mirror.

"You know, you're kind of a jerk." Another unfortunate product of the years is that his sister's tongue has loosened- when angered she speaks even more dreadfully than before. "The only things I have to do are annoy you, draw, do my hair, and sleep. It gets really boring."

"I could order Miranda to befriend you again," he offers.

Elyon makes a face. "No thanks. She's really creepy. Plus, rose girls and giant spider girls don't mix."

"Pity. Since the rebels recognize her human form, her uses outside of battle are sharply limited."

A muffled giggle comes from Elyon. "Is that your way of saying she's annoying?"

"Based on that, I would expect the two of you to get along better."

"Everyone annoys you," Elyon points out. "It's a good thing we don't all get along, or you'd have more enemies than you could count."

"I already do."

Elyon waves her hand dismissively. "You know what I mean." Turning back to her sketchbook, she frowns. "I can only paint the throne room so many times, no matter how pretty all the plants are. Or creepy. You used to just go for creepy ones…"

"I choose plants based on their merits as well as their appearance."

Pointing to a batch of white flowers, Elyon asks, "So, what do those do?"

"They release a scent which makes people predisposed to tell the truth. Care to step closer to them?"

"You really work at making unpleasant conversation, don't you?"

Phobos would argue that he has their mother to thank for that, but doesn't say as much. "I don't see the need to change sixty years of habit when it's served me so well."

Apparently his attempts were in vain, for Elyon surmises: "I guess I'm not the only one who has issues with this family."

"Mother's main interest in me was in discouraging my magical studies and other ambitions," Phobos offers in return. His easy seat on the throne is a defiance of that, one he still revels in. Would that his regard of his sister be as easy to dismiss. "She feared what I could become."

Rather than commenting on the wisdom of their mother's fears, his sister appears thoughtful. "I didn't remember it for a long time, but when I was little there were…incidents. I drew pictures of Meridian sometimes, and had weird dreams, and sometimes when I was really upset, things would just…break. Mom and Dad always looked so scared. Anything which linked back to Meridian scared them- I think they wanted to just spend my whole life pretending I was a normal girl and my fate was on earth."

And their fear spawned resentment; resentment which led Elyon right into his arms. "I'm reminded of why I should never have an heir; children always defy the expectations of their parents."

"You shouldn't have an heir because you'd be a terrible father. And you'd definitely have a kid who'd want your power. It's karma."

"Karma?"

"What goes around comes around? Something like that."

His sister appears guileless, offering no clue as to whether that is intended as a threat or not. A foolish shred of him, decades old and still not entirely stamped out, hopes that it is not.

-o-

Voices catch his ear, and the Whisperers call for him, directing him to the throne room. Someone is speaking with Elyon. Rage fills him, and he is shocked to find that he is surprised, as if a betrayal from her wasn't due at some point or another.

Pushed by his power, the doors slam open, and Raythor jumps up from his seat in front of Elyon.

"What is the meaning of this, Raythor?" Phobos asks, ice forming at his words.

"My lord?" Raythor asks, having the gall to sound confused, as if he has done nothing wrong. "I had come to report on some suspects among my men, and ran into the princess…"

"Of course." Phobos contemplates which punishment would be most fitting.

Suddenly Elyon rises. "Stop it! You idiot, Raythor found me by accident. He was just telling me about our family, because I asked, because God knows trying to get personal information out of you is like pulling teeth at the best of times!"

"You expect me to believe you, sister?" All of the hatred he still feels is concentrated in his gaze, but the foolish girl seems undeterred. She approaches him, coming so far from the bushes that her vines are stretched to their limit, and she takes his hand. "Release me, now."

"No," Elyon replies, mulishly stubborn. "It's not a crime for two people who care to talk about you, is it?"

"I should make it one." Phobos' eyes narrow. Care? She must be lying; and yet, her expression now reminds him very much of when she was a child, only capable of the weakest lies, easily sniffed out.

Elyon squeezes his hand, looking suddenly, childishly nervous. "Yeah, it's stupid of me, but…"

She can read him too well.

"Your Whisperers can listen in all the time, fine. But can I just talk to Raythor? You have no idea how lonely it is, being imprisoned like this."

"You'd be surprised." With that, Phobos pulls his hand from hers and takes his leave, not willing to give her a true concession, but allowing their defiance for the moment.

"What was that about?" He hears Elyon ask in a whisper, and a muffled reply from Raythor, the only word of which he can pick up being 'oubliette'…

Rage flares in him again. "Raythor!"

Footsteps clatter across the stone floor. "Yes, my lord?"

"I will forgive your transgression this once, but if I see you speaking to my sister again, I will not be so forgiving."

"I understand."

Phobos curses that Raythor is one of the few people who does understand.

-o-

When he next sees her, his sister looks up at him with damnable pity in her eyes, and he wants to kill her for it. His rage is still burning bright, not yet brought down to a simmer. She should know better than to confront him before then.

But it seems there is still some fool left in his sister. "Brother," she starts hesitantly, and it is odd, to hear the familial appellation which normally only he uses, "Did…did our mother really hate you that much?"

Phobos' fists clench, and he turns away from her. "No. In order to hate me, she would have to have cared one way or the other in the first place."

"That's…"

"Be silent."

Sense catches up with Elyon, and she obeys.

-o-

"I wish I knew how to scry," Elyon bemoans again, apparently expecting no response.

It has been a week, and when Elyon speaks at all, it is of inanities such as this. Phobos typically ignores her, which she seems to take as invitation to continue. Since informing her otherwise would require speaking to her, he tolerates it.

Finally, though, Phobos grows weary of it. "Tell me, dear sister, why you continue with your inane prattling?"

Elyon jumps, startled, and her pencil breaks against the paper. "You're talking to me again?" she asks, nervous.

"Perhaps."

"That sounds more like a no than a yes," she says with a sigh. "Well, I guess… I guess that if I pretend things are normal, hopefully they will be normal again at some point. You're not good company, but you're all I've got, you know." The last said with a teasing lilt. When had his sister become comfortable with speaking to him in such a manner?

Strange as it is, that does seem to settle matters.


	3. Chapter 3

Blood seeps into the waters of his spring, but Phobos is too worn to care. His injuries burn, the cool water only doing so much to soothe them. The Guardians have learned the art of war, and their hesitance to kill face-on is fading fast. He will need to adjust his plans accordingly…

He dozes, and it takes a while for the voices of his Whisperers to reach him. He ignores them, but his eyes snap open when he hears his sister gasp.

"What happened?" Elyon stands at the edge of the spring, her eyes wide and childlike. "It looks like someone tried to cut your heart out and just missed."

"She did," he replies curtly.

His sister trembles, interpreting his words correctly. For a moment he entertains the notion that she has divided loyalties, then discards it. She has grown and darkened, but he doubts that his sister is so complex a being.

"How did you get here?" he asks sharply, belatedly. A glance downwards, however, answers his question for him. Elyon's robe is torn by thorns, and her feet show underneath, the vines wrapped about them snapped and bleeding. Sap…no, blood, is splattered on the floor in the shape of her footprints. "What are you doing here, sister?"

Elyon fidgets. "You were gone for so long…" ' _I was worried_ '. He hears the unspoken words clearly, and wonders whether to believe them or not. "Brother…shouldn't you have someone take care of that?" she asks, gesturing at his wounded arm and chest.

"It is unnecessary."

Elyon snorts inelegantly and steps into the water, wading over to him. Phobos is unprepared for such a motion, and has no time to stop her before she is floating in front of him, reaching a hand out to hover over his chest. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure, dear sister."

His voice must be weaker than normal, for rather than paying heed, Elyon's hand moves to brush against the wound on his chest. His own hand snaps out, catching her wrist in a bruising grip before she can touch him. She stares up at him, eyes wide once again.

"Presumptive. You should learn that your place is beneath me, sister."

A blush flares on her cheeks, and, belatedly, he realizes how his words can be interpreted. What is surprising is that his sister's mind went so fast to that meaning.

He smirks.

"Can't I be worried when someone tries to kill you?" Elyon asks heatedly, in a clear attempt to move past the moment.

He will allow it, but he will not forget. Any tool may prove useful in the future. "We are enemies, dear sister."

Guilt shows in her. "I know, and I shouldn't be, but I'm still worried!"

"Don't bother- I'm quite fine."

He releases her, and, rather than moving away, her hand rests on the uninjured side of his chest, leaning against him. "Yeah, I can see that." Her dry grin fading, Elyon frowns. "Come on, you do have doctors here, right?"

"None I'd trust so close to my heart."

"You know, when you can't even trust a doctor to take care of you when you have a gaping wound all over your left side, you might want to consider that there's something wrong with your life."

"I'll take that into consideration," he replies, matching her for dryness.

"Somehow I doubt it."

"You're quite the hypocrite, dear sister. You should return to the throne room and take root again before you bleed to death."

Elyon bites her lip. "But…" She sighs. "Yeah, you're right. Um, you can heal that with magic, right?"

"It's why I came here, before you chose to interrupt."

"Oh. Well, I'll just be leaving…"

Phobos sends the Whisperers to follow her, and soon they report that she is returned to the rose bushes, fast asleep and in need of recuperation.

-o-

"Just another step…" Elyon pauses, whimpering.

Phobos lounges in his throne, using the image to belie the tension he truly feels. It is surprisingly difficult to watch his sister attempt to mutilate herself. "This is ridiculous, sister. I won't allow you to go anywhere anyway, and if you continue to rip those thorns you will bleed to death."

"I don't care!" she snaps, glaring up at him. "I'm sick of being cooped up by these stupid rose bushes! Even if it's just a few feet away, I want to _move_!"

When Elyon attempts to take another step, Phobos flies over to stand by her, holding her back before she can move again. "It isn't a prisoner's place to dictate her prison, sister."

Elyon takes hold of his hand, looking to him with plaintive eyes. "Just the throne room, _please_. Or I really am going to go crazy here."

Curious. Phobos takes control, grabbing the hand that holds his and pulling it up between them. "I think not, dear sister."

Rather than trying to escape, Elyon's fingers twine about his, and she steps closer, hiding her face in his robes. "I hate you, you know."

"I'm crushed, I'm sure."

Suddenly Elyon giggles. "That wasn't even funny." She looks up, frowning. "You're too tall."

"While you have gained perhaps a few paltry inches since your arrival in Meridian," he retorts. As if there is any shame in standing above others. It is his sister's stature which is ridiculously small for a woman of her station.

Elyon's face is flushed, her mind quite clearly following different paths.

"You are playing a dangerous game, sister," he mocks, and knows he has hit the mark when her blush intensifies. She tries to look away, but he grabs her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Now, now, dear sister, you have nowhere to run to. But I wonder, what do you hope to gain?"

"The obvious, I'd think," Elyon replies, her voice ending up weak, rather than the casual dismissal she had clearly intended.

"My innocent baby sister? I think not." His fingers stroke along her throat, and then press down in warning. "Tread carefully, sister dear, or your lies could come back to bite you."

"I…" Elyon's breath is coming hard, her eyes glazing.

His sister is no actor. The possibility that she is in earnest is…rather intriguing, actually. And she may just find herself surprised at what she is asking for.

"You will regret this, sister," he tells her, guiding her onto the floor on her back, positioned underneath him.

"Promise?" Elyon asks, voice breathy, the seduction of an inexperienced girl who has no true notion of what she is walking into.

"Of course, dear sister."

Her response to his kiss is childishly innocent, but certainly willing enough. Her hands rest lightly on his shoulders, not pushing away but seeming to draw him closer, and her lips part, probably more in surprise than intent, but he takes advantage all the same and slides his tongue into her mouth. With satisfaction he hears her choked gasp, shock and arousal bundled together.

It occurs to him that, innocent as she is, this might very well be her first kiss. _First to kiss, first to bed_ , he thinks, and a part of him revels in having the opportunity to take this part of her. She is his now in a way that she can never be another's; there is a certain satisfaction in having been the one to destroy all of her damnable innocence.

His hand slips under her robe, stealing across her thigh and hip, and she moans, arching into him slightly. Her hands clutch him ever more tightly, and she kisses him with what feels like desperation.

Phobos pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against hers, and smirks. "Well, sister dear, this is unexpected."

"Uh huh…" Elyon's fingers twine in his hair. "And…what about you?"

Her robe has ridden up, and he strokes the flesh revealed by it, making her moan again. When he uses his magic to remove her robe and she gasps, he chuckles. "Is this answer enough for you?"

Elyon no longer has magic of her own, but she makes fast enough work of his own robes. She is uncertain but eager, and Phobos finds himself surprised yet again at this unexpected side of his sister. "Hardly a _pure_ Light of Meridian, are you?"

Her fingers scratch his back in response, and her kiss grows more vicious.

It won't do for sister to believe that she is the one in power, so Phobos takes control once again.

Elyon cries out when he enters her, clearly in pain, and that too is a part of her he is satisfied to have stolen away. Even through her pain she presses closer to him, and her arms wrap around him as he finds his release.

Thorns drive into his back, and for one foolish moment Phobos doesn't understand. And then he does, as he feels power draining from him, his sister eating away at the Heart of Meridian which he had stolen from her years ago. There are tears in Elyon's eyes as he looks down at her in hatred. "I'm sorry," she whispers, and he believes her, as little as it matters.

His body is frozen. This should come as less of a surprise, he knows. He has never hated his sister more than he does now, and for all that he doesn't hate her as much as he wishes to.

Finally the thorns release him, and he is relieved to find that he still has power- all that was his before the coronation. Perhaps this is his sister's form of mercy.

He rises, his robes appearing on him, watching as Elyon dresses. Her legs are no longer restrained by vines and thorns- she is now free from the rose that held her.

"Whore," he accuses, voice more vicious than it has been towards his sister in years.

She winces, but nods.

They both startle as the doors to the throne room open, and Phobos prepares to kill whoever has dared to interfere in this moment.

The mage enters, and smiles down at Elyon. "I see you have completed your task, princess. Or should I say queen?"

"I…" Elyon's voice breaks.

"Her task?" Phobos turns on the mage, glad to have lighted on an easier target. "So this is your doing, is it?"

The mage has never smiled before, but she does now. It is an unsettling sight. "Do you really think that little girl would know for herself how to take control of her rose's form, or to take your power from you? I taught her, naturally, and she has done well. Not well enough, though, seeing as you are still alive."

Elyon steps forward uncertainly, and the mage's smile widens. "Ah, I see you still wear your mother's jewel."

A necklace, unnoticed until now, has spilled out from its hiding place behind her robes. Indeed, the pendant is a jewel from their mother's crown.

Just like her. A part of Phobos seems to be frozen, ice too thick to be melted by rage.

"I don't want it," Elyon snaps, voice breaking through the ice. Her hands move to the back of her neck, unfastening the necklace. "You can take it back- I don't want this sort of reminder of _her_."

Elyon throws the necklace, and the mage catches it. Her form fades away, revealing an old woman. The imposter laughs. "Thank you, princess. You, my dear, have just handed me the Heart of Meridian."

 **-o-**

 **To be continued in 'The Thorn'**


End file.
